Solitary
by Centuries-Past
Summary: Nate gets in trouble in prison. Sam's pissed. Naturally. Light whump. Brotherly one-shot.


Disclaimer: I do not own uncharted.

Hello the beautiful uncharted fandom!

This is a just another one-shot I thought of because I really miss these two and who doesn't love a little protective Sam?

* * *

He was put in the hole for fighting again. There were moments where Nate thought the guards had forgotten about him and he was left behind to rot in this cemented block in complete darkness, but then he reassured himself of the deal they had with Vargas, so he allowed himself to relax. Well, as much as a man with busted ribs and a bruised face _could_ relax.

The first time he experienced solitary, he had gotten so claustrophobic that Nate thought he was gonna die. It's uncomfortable to say the least. You eat on the floor, sleep on the floor, and even relieve yourself in the far end corner of the block. There's absolutely no light, so there's no way to tell what time of day it was or how long it's been. You lose track of time, and sometimes it felt like being stuck in limbo. It made Nate truly appreciate the small things like sunlight and the dirty cell he shared with Sam-

 _Sam…_

"Ah crap," Nate whispered, and slumped his head down to rest against his forearm.

His older brother was definitely gonna bust his ass for landing himself in here. Thing is, they would only fight, steal, and get placed in solitary if, and only if, it was part of the plan. Anything else was a complete waste of time. Every second in this damn prison was spent living and breathing for their mission. The shit he had pulled was not apart of the plan.

"Maybe it's safer to stay here," he mumbled to himself.

But honestly, what the hell was he supposed to do? It was purely self-defense! What was he gonna do- let a guy pound him because he thought he was a "pretty gringo"? So what he knocked the guy unconscious? He deserved it. You protect yourself at all costs. That's how it worked in prison, so Sam could go screw himself.

Suddenly, he heard the sweet sound of metal locks unclicking, and he changed his mind about staying in this dump. Immediately when the door opened, a rush of bright sunlight assailed his eyes. It was like the angel of God decided to pay him a visit, and he shielded his eyes when he felt two rough hands grab his arm and haul him to his feet.

"Hey, I missed you guys." He gasped when one of the guards pushed him to move along which caused his side to protest in pain.

They cuss him out in spanish, naturally, but Nate couldn't bring himself to focus on that right now. Besides, it wasn't the guards he was concerned about as much as the 6'4, gangly chimney awaiting him in his cell who was going to hand his ass to him.

He tried slowing down his little stroll, but it was hard to do that when he was constantly being shoved forward from behind. He felt the eyes of several hundred inmates stare at him as he was escorted back to his cell. He kept his eyes forward and refused to make eye contact with any of them, ignoring some of their calls to get his attention.

When he arrived at his cell, Sam was busting out a series of push-ups, no doubt because he was restless. His brother was never one to sit still and wait patiently. He pounced back onto his feet, his face glistening with sweat.

When one of the guards pushed him into the cell,

Nate felt like he was being shoved in a cage with a wild lion. He heard the loud clang of the metal door lock into place behind him, and his fate was sealed.

Yup, Sam was angry.

His lips were thinned into an angry line and he had his arms crossed. What really gave Nate the feeling of apprehension were his eyes that looked absolutely murderous.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey Sam-

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sam snapped.

O.. _kay_ shit escalated quickly. This was new he noted silently. Normally, it was Nate that was the snappy one, the one who shouted, started fights (for good and justifiable reasons, mind you), not Sam, the mediator of all things, the number one compromiser. He must be really pissed off if he was the one initiating the fight.

Nate quirked a brow at his outburst, promising himself to keep things as calm as possible. The main reason being he was too malnourished and weary to take another beating if it came to that. And with the way Sam was looking...it just might.

"Okay.. uh, for starters, I can explain."

"I don't need you to explain jack shit, Nathan! You deliberately lost your cool!"

Hold on a minute. He deliberately _chose_ to get into a fight? What?

"Excuse me?"

Sam ran a frustrated hand through his hair and paced a little on his feet. "Don't give me that. You've been moody this whole month-

" _Moody?_ "

"-yes, _moody_ because I told you we're not cutting Rafe outta the deal, so naturally you go and knock a guy unconscious-

"Hey, that asshole had it coming!" He protested.

Sam studied him before speaking.

"Did he touch you?"

 _Why_ the hell were they even having this discussion!?

"H-he-

Sam stepped menacingly closer when he hesitated.

"Did. He. Touch you?" He patronizingly repeated, tone suggesting that he already knew the answer.

Nate was in no mood for this, and he honestly just wanted to punch him for being so annoying.

"He kept calling me pretty and stepped closer!"

"So that's a no," Sam concluded.

"He could've!" Nate retorted, arms wanting to cross, but his side prevented him from doing so. They naturally fell to his side and he swallowed down a wince. Thankfully, his brother didn't notice.

"So give him a push instead of knocking the guy's lights out, and landing your ass in solitary for a whole goddamn week!"

Nate scrubbed a tired hand through his hair. Yeah, he had been a little angry lately, but for a good reason! He didn't get a good vibe from the little rich boy. Something about him seemed...off. He seemed a little too greedy despite having been that privileged. Nate wasn't stupid. If you couldn't trust someone with something small, then you couldn't trust them with something big. It's not like he wasn't desperate to find Avery's treasure and complete their Mom's life's work, but he wasn't' _that_ desperate. Nate didn't mind being patient, and he sure as hell wasn't going ignore certain signs that set off the warning bells in his head. He's always moved through life with his gut and this philosophy has yet to fail him.

Instead of saying all this to Sam, all he could do was slump down on his dirty bunk. His side smarted, and his hand instinctively went there. He rested his head against the wall and tried to take steady breaths.

"Let's talk about this tomorrow."

Sam crossed his arms. "No, I'm done waiting. We're gonna talk about this now."

"Dammit Sam, I'm not in the mood!" He snapped. So much for keeping things calm.

"Yeah, that's part of the problem." Sam retorted, and planted himself on his bunk.

Nate could feel the nerve connected to his brow twitch irritatingly. His words brought about the image of someone he hadn't thought of in years, and he felt his skin crawl with annoyance.

"Y'know what? Why don't you do me a favor, cut the bullshit, and just spit it out. Goddamn, you're starting to sound just like Sister Catherine."

Sam visibly clenched his jaw, and Nate wished he could smirk in satisfaction at striking a nerve, but believe it or not he hated fighting with Sam. But they were both two very stubborn people, so sometimes it was inevitable.

Sam's eyes narrowed at the comparison. He had always hated her. "Okay, fair enough." He looked dead center into his eyes, and Nate fought to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably. "I need to know if you're with me a hundred percent on this."

Nate felt his heart plummet to his gut.

"What?" He felt his mouth run dry. Sam kept the intense gaze. Nate was completely taken aback at the ridiculous inquisition. It wasn't long before he started coming to his senses though.

"What-you think I don't know about your little plan with Sullivan?"

Immediately he thought of the man's warm smile and grey eyes that glinted with mischief, fondness, and kindness. He was completely taken aback with the mention of Sully.

"What does he have to do with-

Sam leaned back comfortably on his bunk, lacing his fingers behind his head. His nonchalant attitude was both infuriating and disconcerting.

"I'm just saying that maybe you're a little distracted."

Oh, _that_ did it.

Nate was practically shaking with rage. Yes, he was passionate, to say the least, about the Sir Francis Drake project, but that didn't mean he wasn't wholeheartedly focused on finding Avery's treasure and completing their _Mom's_ life work! He felt betrayal rise like bile in his throat and he felt anger pump itself into his veins. How could Sam even question his loyalty like this?

"How dare you." He whispered, shooting daggers at his brother. "How fucking dare you!"

Sam straightened and schooled his smug expression, eyeing the caged door for any approaching guards. "Keep your goddamn voice down-

"You're not the only one who loved her, Sam!" He watched his brother freeze, muscles transforming into stone. His side was smarting more than ever and his body was practically telling him to shut up, but he couldn't stop. "How dare you even _think_ that I would put my own interests above Mom's!" His voice cracked on the last word that somehow managed to fill him with more longing than any promise of gold would.

Sam's eyes softened and he leaned forward. "Nat-

"Fuck you!" Nate shouted. "I can't believe y-" his bruised ribs wouldn't let him finish, and Nate's face contorted in pain. Suddenly, there wasn't enough oxygen and every little inhale was like a jab to his tender side. Nate screwed his eyes shut, breaths coming in fast and short.

There was a voice in his ear, and he felt a warm hand grasp the back of his neck and the other hold his shoulder.

"Easy, easy.." Sam whispered, and caressed his upper arm with his hand. Nate tuned his inhaling and exhaling with the up and down motion of Sam's hand. It still hurt like shit, but at least he got some solid breaths into his lungs.

He slapped the hand on his shoulder away.

"Don't touch me." Nate spat, heart contracting when Sam's eyes had that remorseful, guilt- stricken gaze. The hand on the back of his neck stayed though, and Nate could feel his strength being sapped away, fast. Not that he had much to begin with.

"I'm sorry." Sam confessed. "I'm sorry I doubted you, okay? I'm sorry. Just take it easy."

Nate said nothing. He felt the anger slowly dwindling down, but the hurt was still evidently there. The hand on the back of his neck gave an apologetic squeeze, and had no strength left in him to bat his hand away.

"Lemme take a look." Sam said, and gently repositioned him to lie down.

"It's fine." Nate said, but there was very little he could do about it. Then again, there was very little Sam could do about it. It's not like every cell came with a complementary aid kit, but he knew the older man felt the need to inspect just how much damage was inflicted to his side. Like Nate even had the energy to fight him on this. He felt Sam slid his shirt up until it was bunched up at his chest.

Sam's lips thinned and he exhaled through his nose. "At least they're not broken."

Nate curiously glanced down and was instantly greeted by a swirl of yellow, black, and purple that stained his side. The yellow was a good sign because his ribs had already begun to heal. He was amazed by his body's remarkable ability to heal and adapt, especially when he could physically _count_ his ribs.

He continued to practice steadying his breaths.

"Way worse before." He mumbled.

Sam sat on the floor and used his bunk as a support for his back. He drew one knee up to rest his elbow on it and ran a hand through his hair. Nate could tell he was itching for a smoke.

"Guard?" he asked knowingly.

"Yeah."

Assuming it was in the middle of the week because Nate had lost complete track of time, he got mouthy with a guard for dropping his food and making a mess everywhere, which earned him several kicks to the ribs. He was surprised the assholes footprint hadn't been permanently etched into his skin. Still, they weren't broken. There's that.

Sam scrubbed the back of his neck. "Do I even need to ask who pissed off who?"

"Quit lecturing me," Nate huffed.

"Wouldn't have to if you used your head."

He resisted the urge to kick him with his leg.

"Please," he retorted, "like you've never made a mistake. Remember Santa Marta?"

"Okay, that was a mistake for the mission and you know it. I thought we had a solid lead."

He would laugh if he could, but there was nothing funny about that memory.

"You disappeared for three months and I thought you were dead." He deadpanned.

Sam glared at him from where he sat. "But it was still in the name of finding Avery's treasure." He held a hand up when he opened his mouth to interject. "Still a mistake, I know. Won't happen again."

"Exactly. So is this. I don't know why you're making such a huge deal about this." He admitted. "Injuries are in our job description." One of the many perks of being a jaded treasure hunter.

Sam's gaze hardened. "You wanna die for nothin' Nathan? Is that it?"

Nate rolled his eyes at his overprotectiveness. "Stop being so dramatic-

"Don't give me that crap!" He snapped. "You know how vicious these guys can get!"

"Jesus Christ, Sam. Stop babying me and just tell me what you want." He said tiredly.

He swears that Sam's eyes darkened for a split second when he held his gaze. "Don't ever sacrifice yourself for stupid shit again. Got it?"

Nate sighed, but nodded. "Yeah."

His brother studied his expression, looking to see if he got his message across. Satisfied, he rose from his seat on the harsh ground and plopped down on his bunk.

Nate's hand ghosted over his sternum, fingers wanting to fiddle with the silver ring there, but there was no ring. Nate wasn't going to risk bringing something that valuable into a cage of power hungry animals. Still, he wished he had it. He's probably repeated that Latin inscription to himself over and over again like a mantra throughout his life. It was a promise of greater things to come despite circumstances. It's what kept him going. That, and the stubborn, overprotective, chimney to his left, and the other womanizing, smooth talking, chimney that was probably in Brazil with a gorgeous woman in his arms with a cigar in his mouth.

Nate snorted at the image before wincing and gingerly holding his side. He wished Sully would appear with a get out of jail card, so they could finally get out of this shithole. But they would have to access Burnes's cell first. Still, he went on wishing.


End file.
